Getting Involved

Section Thirty-One

"Miss Edmondson," Scott began when Margaret and Anna had left them. "We found out you haven't been truthful about your alibi."

Clarissa looked back impassively, as if she did not care about her alibi or about lying at all. "What did you find out?"

He should not be the one to tell her this, yet someone had to break the impasse. "You were not alone for a part of the time between tea and dinner." He hoped she would remember that she had claimed she was alone all that time.

She was not impressed, as if she had expected him to find out sooner or later. Yet she was not eager to admit to anything or tell him more than he knew. "Could be." First he would have to tell her what he knew, then she could adapt her story.

They could play this circumspect game for a while, he supposed, with both of them trying not to reveal too much. It could take very long and he did not like playing such games with everyone. "Miss Edmondson, we already know it was Mr. Symonds."

In that case she was not going to deny it. "Yes."

"Why did you forget or neglect to tell us about his visit?" He wondered about the similarities between her and Anna. Both of them were extremely unexcitable. The mother, he hoped, was a little sharper than the daughter, given that she could lie. Doing that would never occur to Anna.

"I didn't think it was important enough." She sounded and looked convinced of that.

Scott did not buy that attitude. He had specifically asked her if no one could prove that she had been in her room. After that, nobody could claim that she had not known it was important. She had to be aware that pleading ignorance was not going to work. "So you would rather be accused of murder than admit to having an affair?" Sceptically he raised an eyebrow to show her that her explanation was not entirely plausible.

"Why should I be accused of murder?" Clarissa believed she would be safe if there was no evidence that pointed to her guilt, even if there might be no evidence that pointed to her innocence.

"Tell me why you should not be accused of murder, Miss Edmondson." That was a much more helpful issue to him.

"I had no reasons to murder him and you know it."

"How about spite?" he asked. "Was he really going to change his will? We only have your word for it. Or had he said no and were you angry with him for that? See, if he was not going to change anything then you might as well murder him. Nothing would change for you anyway." She would still receive the sum specified in the will.

Clarissa looked disturbed. "Except perhaps that I would go to jail? How does that qualify as nothing would change?"

"Perhaps you counted on getting away with it. Most murderers do. Mr. Hargreaves' murderer has not come forward either," he reminded her. "He or she expects to get away with it as well."

"Nice, but I think you should try again, Inspector. I stood nothing to gain by killing Nigel. I stood everything to gain if he stayed alive. He pays us three thousand pounds a month. That's the same as in the will, but the will doesn't provide for extras, which we regularly got."

Accusing her way the way to go then. She was more likely to reveal things if she felt accused. "You rowed with him. You might have become angry with him because he refused to include your daughter -- his daughter -- in his will and you might have been so angry that you killed him." People had murdered for less.

She did not appear surprised that he knew the secret about Anna. Perhaps Edwin had spoken to her already. "I never argue. Don't you think it would have been wiser to bide my time and to try and convince him later if it happened the way you suggest?"

While she was not the type to flare up, he should never discount the effect of the final straw. Even the calmest of people could be provoked into action. "Of course. But in most murder cases there would have been a wiser alternative and in most cases it was ignored. I have to keep the option open that you weren't wise either, Miss Edmondson. Besides, your current lover might be just as rich as Nigel. Did you still need him now that you have Edwin?" That was a spontaneous thought. He pursued it as he waited for her answer. His words seemed to frighten her.

She had not thought of that and it unsettled her that he might consider this a motive. "Check his bank account. I have no idea," she said, as if she had never stopped to wonder.

Really? If Nigel would not give them money, Edwin might. "And you have rowed with Nigel -- over Poppy." If money was all she needed Nigel for then he might very well be expendable if she had found herself another source. It was too bad that he did not know how much money Edwin had. He made a quick scribble for Randall and passed it to her.

"I wouldn't call that a row. He did not appreciate my comments about her." Clarissa shrugged. "She's...well, I don't have to tell you what she's like. You've been able to see that for yourself. Occasionally she inspires some criticism in people. Nigel didn't like that. It doesn't mean I had a problem with Nigel himself, though. Do you think I'd have come here if I did? I'd have better things to do with my time. It didn't even happen recently."

Scott wondered why Clarissa was not more cooperative, although she was improving. She had been truthful in saying she would have been better off with a living Nigel as far as he could tell -- unless there were things he did not yet know. "We know Mr. Symonds was in your room for about twenty minutes shortly after he'd gone upstairs. We have his word for that and your neighbour's."

"My neighbour's?" Clarissa had obviously not reckoned with the possibility that a neighbour might be able to hear her.

"Miss Maxwell overheard some things."

"But she did not tell you anything if you're only asking me now," she said shrewdly, not dwelling on the embarrassment that was expected of her.

"She did not identify your visitor right away, but she did tell us you had one."

"Then why didn't you ask me?"

That was a good question. Occasionally he too did things in the wrong order, but he should let her think it was a special tactic of his. "Why didn't you tell us yourself, Miss Edmondson? I was curious about that and I was waiting for you to tell us. The information was crucial to your alibi. Nigel was murdered between four and seven." He kept that time period broad on purpose. "Everyone knew that. So did you. I'm curious why you didn't acquit yourself for the time that the visitor was with you. And do I have to mention that you would have acquitted Mr. Symonds as well? If he was with you there is absolutely no way he could have done it." Perhaps that made a stronger impression on her.

"There were other considerations involved." If Poppy found out she would be livid, naturally. She considered Edwin her property, or one of her properties. There was no telling what might have happened.

"And those were more important than not having an alibi for murder?"

"That was for me to decide. You couldn't prove that I did it, because I didn't, so what did it matter that you couldn't prove that I didn't?"

Scott sighed. He wished people would not want to decide these things for themselves. "And apparently Mr. Symonds' alibi was not important, or had you perhaps thought the murder was committed before he visited you, so that was why this too was not important? But now we know."

"Indeed," was all Clarissa said.

He had to try out some thoughts. "Was your daughter the reason that you'd have liked to keep this a secret?"

"Could be."

Precisely what was Anna not allowed to know? "What would she say? She doesn't strike me as a girl who'd kick a fuss at any time, so why would she do so upon finding out you've been sleeping with Edwin Symonds?" Anna might be shocked to hear it, but that was all. She was not going to be problematic.

Clarissa winced at how he phrased it. "It's not that simple. I hope you realise that a little caution is still needed, despite Nigel's being dead. You'll understand it could not come out while he was alive. It's a bit of a crude image to have me sleep with one man while wheedling money out of a former lover, but many people are crude and they would not have any objections to commenting on it."

"It's not the image you want your daughter to have of you?" he asked, glad that she was finally telling him a bit more. He had to understand this situation. "Regardless of whether people speak the truth?"

Clarissa shook her head. "Who would? Furthermore, she's still young enough to mind what others say about me. Her friends are still young enough to blame her for what they believe I did, even if they don't really know if it's true. Do you understand?"

"I've heard something similar from another mother," Scott answered. He remembered Margaret's concerns about the other parents at the school. This was a similar worry, even if one had something to fear and the other did not. Clarissa had really done something, although gossipers would not care that Margaret had not. If both had the same worries, he would simply have to accept that they were justified, even if he was likely to shrug it off himself. He had no daughter.

Apparently Clarissa sensed his scepticism. "Despite what you may think I do have my daughter's best interests at heart and not my own. I would never have wanted money from Nigel if Anna had not liked him."

"So I heard. What I was curious about was why you waited all these years for him to acknowledge his daughter." That was something he understood even less.

She knew that looked odd. "I've always known. It wasn't a matter of crossing possible candidates off a list throughout the years so that I finally got the right one right now. He's always known too. But as long as he wasn't showing any interest in her, except more or less dutifully paying up each month, I wasn't going to press my case." She had her pride and she was above begging.

"And it was not until Poppy appeared on the scene that you did?" On their way over here Randall had told him that Poppy had not always been around. That was important, considering that Anna had never been very far away.

"Well..." Clarissa bit her lip. "I knew that from his marriage he had a daughter abroad. He hadn't shown any more interest in her than in Anna. I didn't care. I assumed that was how he was and you cannot make people into something they are not. Then suddenly she came back, manipulated him so much that he ... he..." she gestured in a helpless manner, not knowing how to put it into words and not even understanding how it had happened.

"So much that he blindly idolised her?" Scott suggested. "Forgetting about Anna?" That could have made a mother angry. Even the most unexcitable of mothers would have felt something.

She nodded. "He began to spend an awful lot of money on her. Suddenly she was the apple of his eye and she could do no wrong."

"And you didn't think that fair," he stated. He would not have thought it very fair either. Much could happen after this feeling had got hold of a person. It might have festered and made her deeply jealous, doing things she never had thought possible.

"Well, would you? I tried to stay sensible about it, but that was very difficult. Why wasn't he doing this for my daughter? He knew about her as well. The only difference was that she and I didn't put ourselves forward. Just because we weren't married at the time didn't mean she wasn't as much Nigel's daughter as Poppy was."

"So you started to see him again."

Clarissa knew how that sounded. "Not for him, for Anna. I didn't start anything with him again. That was over. Perhaps I should have gone to him and demanded that he treat Anna like his daughter. He might have done so instantly. I don't know. I didn't do that. Instead I was stupid and I hoped they might develop a bond over time, which would make me feel less mercenary. Stupid. I should have stood up for our rights, instead of hoping he might develop any feelings." There was some bitterness in her voice. "He was never very good at that. He loved himself too much."

While all of that made sense, there was another matter that needed to be cleared up in light of this story. "If both you and Nigel had always known Anna was his daughter, then why did someone make him do a DNA test?"

Clarissa was not surprised that he mentioned it. "I didn't want to hate Poppy because of what she was, but I certainly disliked her because of who she was. First I had a test done to have proof of Anna's parentage, should it ever be necessary. He cooperated. No problem. It made me think that it wasn't fair that I should have get proof of his fatherhood just because we hadn't been married, whereas his wife hadn't had to prove anything about Poppy. The marriage certificate was enough."

"Ah..." Scott began to suspect where she was heading. "You began to doubt that?" That would certainly shed a new light on matters.

She looked him straight in the eye. "Call it spiteful, paranoid or jealous. You would be absolutely correct, I suppose, but I did indeed begin to doubt. With no other reason than the characters of Poppy and her mother. And the fact that she wasn't a natural blonde."

Another female with a hunch. He was encountering far too many on this case, but so far they had proved their worth. "What did you do with your doubts?" Moreover, had they been justified? Was Poppy Nigel's daughter or was she someone else's?

"I managed to not quite legally have Poppy's DNA tested, as she would never agree and she might find out why I wanted it tested, which was something I did not want at this stage. I hadn't planned anything yet. I already had Nigel's results. He was not her father," Clarissa said in a significant tone.

"Ouch," Randall commented from where she was taking notes. That put an entire new spin on the case -- and somebody's motive had just got stronger.

Indeed. They would look into that later. "And then what?" Scott asked. Had Nigel been told? Had anyone else been told?

"I hadn't decided yet. He'd have to disown her for it to have any effect. Legally she would just get her share if he hadn't had a will. He gave her just about everything, didn't he?"

"Did he know?" That was an important question. Much depended on it. If Nigel had known he might not only have given Anna a larger share, but he might have cut Poppy out completely.

Section Thirty-Two

"How about going into the village, Anna?" Margaret suggested. Suddenly she wanted to leave the premises altogether to get away from the case. The past day and a half she had been forced to stay near the house save for her trip to the school and nothing was worse than being forced to stay somewhere. Even the memory of driving did not dispel the feeling, for she had been under supervision of the Inspector. Being free was different. She had not been out into the real world since Thursday afternoon. It would be nice to talk to someone who was not connected to the case and even if she did not take it, the mere opportunity would feel liberating.

Anna thought it had been expressly forbidden to leave the grounds. She looked scared. They could not do what was forbidden. They might get into trouble. "We're not allowed."

"I am," Margaret said confidently, crossing her fingers behind her back. She could not see Iain telling her off for it. He would accept that she had gone, just like he had been accepting about everything else she had done.

"Why?" Suddenly Anna got into the spirit of questioning.

What a moment to start, thought Margaret, who had no wish to explain it. "I have a deal with the Inspector." He forgave her for any misstep, while she solved the case. It was not as simple as that, but it was no use explaining it to Anna anyway, simple or complicated.

"But I don't want to do anything he doesn't like," Anna said fearfully. He was still in charge of the investigation, though she did not know how far his authority stretched. Perhaps it did not cover Margaret. Many things were not applicable to her.

"I have yet to encounter a more soft-hearted and generous man. He will not protest. Let's go," she said before she started to disbelieve her own words. Still, she had to add something to them. "Soft, yes. But firm." He was no weakling. She had no patience for those.

Anna gave her a strange look after this description. "Well, yes. But that's because he runs."

"Runs?" Margaret did not know what she meant. He ran? Where did he run? She failed to see what that had to do with his being firm.

"Yes, really early. I saw him from my window. So he can't be flabby if he runs. He must be firm."

"I was talking about his character." Thoughts of his body were as inappropriate now as they were insistent. She tried to wipe them out.

"Oh."

"Let's go," Margaret urged again before she became even more distracted. It was good that Anna could not read her mind.

They left the park through a gate she had passed that morning on her run. It reminded her of what Anna had said before she had become distracted. So Iain had been running too. She had not seen him at all, but the park was large. He could have told her when he warned her, though. He could have offered to go running with her in the morning to keep her safe. Or was he planning to surprise her? But now she was prepared.

That was all irrelevant now, she thought as they crossed the brook that marked the edge of Nigel's property. The task at hand was to make Anna jump over it without her falling in or getting her feet wet. There was a plank that served as bridge, or rather it had always served Margaret as bridge up to today, but someone or something had broken it. It lay useless in the middle of the narrow stream. She noted its state, but did not immediately think about it.

Finally Margaret had managed to get Anna across the brook and the only one who had got a little wet was she herself. First they would go into the village and have some lunch, with a hot chocolate or something nice, and some chat wholly unrelated to the murder. She was looking forward to that freedom.

It was not to be.

The local pub was a charming place. Had there not been so many people in there they would have been able to admire its woodwork and polished copper at leisure. Now Margaret had to concentrate on finding them two free seats as quickly as possible before someone else got to them, which proved difficult. She had only ever been in there when nobody else was, so this crowd was a surprise.

The landlady beckoned her from behind the bar. There were no more stools, but there was still standing room. "What is going on?" Margaret asked her. "Free food?" These were not all of them villagers. There were surprisingly few old men among them and surprisingly many men with baggage. Some were staring at her and Anna, even though there were other women in the pub, so she was glad the landlady acted as if she knew her personally. Perhaps she could pass for a villager. Import, naturally.

The landlady lowered her voice. "Murder! It attracts all sorts. Better not say you've come from the manor." Apparently people from the manor were interesting.

"I wasn't going to advertise the fact. I wanted a quiet chat about anything except the murder," Margaret said in disappointment. "I am quite fed up." Perhaps she should have walked to the next village, although it might have been closer to dinnertime when she got there.

"What can I get you?"

"Two sandwiches -- and why not, two pints." She knew she was not going to be able to escape the subject of the murder. Mrs. Hughes the landlady was going to want particulars. After all, an irregular visitor such as herself would never have deserved such a warm welcome at any other time. She knew better than to think she was welcomed because of her own warm personality. It was her name and where she was staying that did the trick, as well as all the inside information she could impart.

She was right. As she brought the pints, Mrs. Hughes already broached the topic. "They haven't caught the murderer yet, have they?"

"No, not yet." Margaret wondered if she could say the police were not even close, but that might be unfair. However, if she said anything else it might raise people's excitement. It was best to say as little as possible.

Mrs. Hughes looked regretful. "We don't hear a thing over here. That Inspector has forbidden our local constables to speak to anyone. He's been lucky so far, but some of these journalists are planning to sneak onto the grounds tomorrow to speak to suspects."

It was good that she heard that in time. She could tell Iain about it and she could tell him that there was a brook someone had tried to cross. Perhaps he could station one of the constables there. She had to tell him to do that. "How do they know about it anyway?" How did news of this sort spread? She did not believe for a second that Mrs. Hughes had allowed the local constables to get away with sticking to DCI Scott's orders. It might have cost a few pints, but that was a professional risk.

Mrs. Hughes shrugged. She knew all about news and gossip. It was dead easy. "First he's dead -- interesting. Then he's murdered -- even more interesting. Then he turns out to have famous guests. It goes fast." She did not say whether anyone had phoned a contact in town. It was good business for her, at any rate.

Margaret nudged Anna to claim a vacated bar stool. They had to act quickly with this crowd. They could also not speak to too many people here. She realised that speaking to the press was even worse than leaving the grounds. Iain might forgive her for one, but not for the other thing. She had better engage Anna in some more conversation before they were approached by some adventurous men looking for a chat.

What did Anna and she have in common? They were both female. However, Margaret thought she was a different kind of female. Anna had more in common with Ailsa. Neither of them had grown up with a father. Ailsa did not know who her father was either. The difference was that Clarissa knew and Catriona never had.

Margaret had never bothered to find out. She had not wanted someone to come and take Ailsa from her after she had grown attached to her. If Catriona had been too drunk to remember the occasion, the father might not remember either. If he had been part of Catriona's inner circle he would have known she was pregnant, yet no one had stepped forward. She had not felt too bad about not searching for him. Perhaps he deserved to know, but perhaps he was someone she did not want to be Ailsa's father.

She was chatting quite agreeably with Anna about parents when someone laid a hand on her shoulder. Thinking that it might be a villager or a journalist, she was prepared to give him a piece of her mind about this invasion of her personal space. She did not like people touching her uninvited.

But it was Iain. He reached past her and took a gulp from her glass. "I'm off duty," he said by way of explanation.

"But that's still my beer," Margaret pointed out. She did not know what his words explained.

Section Thirty-Three

Iain ignored her comment, but deliberately took another gulp. "Who cares about rules and courtesies, Margaret?" She certainly did not, if one of the expressly made requests had been for the guests not to leave the grounds and go into the village. This was a public place not on the premises.

She saw a large part of the contents of her glass had disappeared with those two gulps. It was really not a problem, because she had only ordered a pint to be a rebellious girl. It was all right if someone else drank her beer, but she wondered if he always stole other people's drinks. "I don't know. Better get him his own beer before he drinks all of mine," she said to Mrs. Hughes, who instantly complied, but not without giving Scott some curious glances. Anna was doing the same.

"What are you doing here?" Iain asked. He told himself to withhold his judgement until he had heard her reasons for being here. She was undoubtedly capable of coming up with a very logical explanation.

"Having lunch." She would think that the half-eaten sandwich was evidence enough of that. She pointed at it. "Some detective you are."

"You could have had lunch at the house, or even out of a picnic basket in the park." Both would still be on the grounds, far away from the press. He had needed only one glance to know what sort of people were assembled here.

Yes, she could have done that, but she had chosen not to. She had wanted to get away from there. "I'm fed up. I said so."

"Fed up and still lunching?" he inquired with a superior smile. Being fed up was somehow not an argument worthy of Margaret. It might therefore be true.

"Ha, funny."

"I needed to get away too." He understood her to some extent. This was a tough case, not in the least because of the people involved.

Apparently he was not going to give her much trouble about her being here. Margaret relaxed, although she had told herself all this time she did not care about his eventual reaction. It was good that he was thinking more about his own reasons for coming than hers.

He proved her wrong. "But now you are here."

"What does that mean?" He should be angry, not regretful. She would even be able to understand pleasure.

"That I don't seem able to avoid you."

It was not fair that they should both be fleeing the case and each other and then meeting here. It was ironic. She gave a little laugh. "Oh. You don't mind that I'm here, just that it's me? Sorry then. You shouldn't have come to the lion's den. The place is full of journalists too, apparently." She looked around herself furtively. "But I haven't spoken to any of them."

"Surprising." Iain said that flatly, but he was pleased to hear it. She had been good -- as good as a Margaret could be without suppressing her own spirit. She knew what would get her into serious trouble and what would not, but she really treaded that fine line.

"Why?" Margaret was quick to ask. Did he think she was stupid? Generally she knew what not to do, if he was not involved. She would not like him to think she was stupid more than just occasionally.

"I thought one of them might have recognised you and spoken to you." At least one of them ought to recognise a woman who regularly appeared on television, even if he suspected that they would recognise her faster if she dressed up the way she had for Ailsa's school, with her hair up. It turned her into a slightly different person, less ordinary. Her hair was down now.

"I would have liked to see them try, actually. I am usually a bit more verbally effective than with you."

"Same here," he mumbled from behind his glass. He did not think Anna was listening, but he had spoken softly anyway. He did not often reveal such private things, but it was easier to do so to Margaret for some reason.

She gave him a half-smile. There was not much to add to that at the moment. They could ask each other why, but she was not prepared to search for the answer. Yet. It did not matter. Yet.

"I thought we wouldn't drink anything till after the case," Iain revealed. He had not thought he would say that till after the case either.

"Dehydration is bad. You need your drinks. You need your breaks as well. Do you ever take any?" She was suddenly concerned. "Work is your fun, isn't it? Have another beer."

"That's not what my mother always advises." He was amused at her tone, but in a sense he was also flattered that she should care. He should not be amused, he realised. It had been the very private Margaret speaking. She was serious -- and right.

She slipped back into her usual more flippant mode, afraid of herself. "What does she advise, women? With beer you may get a hangover, but the wrong kind of woman...well..." She did not have to explain that. She surmised he had not yet met the right kind of woman, so all he would have to go on were the wrong kinds of women.

"My mother changes her tactics, of course. She would never advise the same thing twice if I didn't listen. Not literally, anyway." And he would not tell Margaret whether his mother advised women. His mother only wanted to see him settle down with a nice woman and a few children, but he could not tell Margaret that. She might think he was desperate, or that he only did what his mother told him to do. Neither was good.

"That's nice of her. Mine doesn't care at all. She's given up on me." She could easily say that. It had been dealt with long ago.

"Why?" He could not imagine why. The mother should have given up on the sister. That was the one who had gone astray. Or had she given up on Margaret settling down with a nice man and a few children? That could still happen. Even his mother knew it could still happen, despite her occasional prodding.

"Because I wasn't as successful as my sister in the areas they considered important. I gave up on them a little later." Margaret shrugged. "Parents and children don't have to be compatible."

"But you were successful later on." She had grown up to be a beautiful and intelligent woman with her heart in the right place, even if her tongue sometimes ought to be curbed. He could not say either thing, of course. He could say she was intelligent if she needed reassurance, but not more.

"Always love me or never do. I hope I will always support Ailsa, but then I don't have another child to blind me yet." When she had been younger she had always expected to get married and have a few more, but over the years she had lost hope and inclination and she had been very satisfied with how it was. Her words surprised her now. What had happened?

Iain managed to look a bit indignant. "There is nothing wrong with you." It was no wonder that she sometimes behaved that way if even her parents told her there was something wrong with her.

"I know," Margaret could not resist saying. She knew very well what was wrong with her. Or what her parents considered to be wrong with her, which did not mean that it was wrong. Many other people did not agree with them. She did not like to talk about it. It made her sound ungrateful for the things that had gone well. Invariably one emphasised either the good or the bad side and did no justice to the other.

"Do you still see them?"

She considered the question and wondered how often she saw them and how often other people saw their parents. "Well, in their eyes Catriona fell hard with her unplanned pregnancy. In some ways, after trying the immaculate conception theory and finding it lacking, they tried to blame me -- didn't succeed; faulty logic and all that -- but they certainly never wanted much to do with their grandchild. Now and then they visit out of curiosity in the hope that I'm not coping, but that's all." She paused for a few seconds, wondering how she could change the subject gracefully. "If anything, it's made me wonder how Nigel could so totally throw himself onto a daughter he neglected for years. Was it guilt? Or genuine interest? And where on earth is Poppy's mother? We don't see Clarissa abandoning Anna."

She brought up some valid points there. Perhaps they would need more than one pint apiece to discuss this, he with his ideas gained from cases and observations, she with the feelings of a child and mother. His own parents had not given him any less than positive experiences. Margaret did not seem to want to dwell on the subject, however. He was certain there were stories to tell, but pouring her heart out did not suit her. He would have listened had it been otherwise.

Iain hated to be the one to shed light on the whereabouts of a celebrity, but he was capable of answering her question. "DS Randall informed me that Poppy's mother is in Hollywood pursuing a film career and the men that come with it," he said. "Randall er...keeps up. Will probably tell me that it's professional literature from now on and tell me to stop being derogatory about it. Damn."

Margaret had to laugh at his face. "I feel so sorry for you. But maybe Anna knows something." Anna had been sitting looking at her sandwich. They had almost forgotten about her and had talked as if she were not there. It remained to be seen what she had picked up and what she was thinking about now. "Anna? Where is Poppy's mother? What is she up to?"

Section Thirty-Four

At the house, Sebastian was still angry about the will. Unfortunately for him, hardly anyone was willing to be polite enough to listen. Arthur, Edwin and Poppy were available, but Poppy was not interested in his complaints, Edwin was saying he was an idiot and Arthur did not even seem to hear him. Nobody ever took him seriously.

Poppy gravitated towards Arthur, whom she had much to ask about the secret project. All the money was hers to dispose of now and she felt that it meant that she had automatically become the new star of the show and at the very least a power to reckon with. Her inheritance had given her automatic influence.

This deal was not easily closed, as Arthur was not willing to capitulate this quickly. He still had his sights set on Edwin, yet the money was an important issue. He was wondering if with some diplomacy he could have the best of both worlds.

Edwin was listening to Sebastian repeat himself for the fiftieth time. He should have been left more money. It was like a broken record. "Yes, I heard you," he cut in. "It hasn't happened. It's not going to happen. This was final. Got that? Stop whining about it. Nothing's going to change." It was at times like these that people showed their worst side.

Sebastian had a surprising thing up his sleeve. "But I saw the other will!"

"What other will?" Edwin was immediately alert, thinking of Clarissa and Anna. He had to find out more about this. Nobody was supposed to know about the newer will, nobody except Nigel -- and the one who murdered him? And that applied only if Nigel had really made one. They had not been sure of that so far. Sebastian was hardly trustworthy, but why would he mention another will if there had not been one?

"There was another will."

"Why didn't you bloody say so the first forty-nine times that you complained?" Edwin exclaimed, feeling glad that Poppy and Arthur had left the room so they could not disturb them. Poppy would not have allowed him to question Sebastian this thoroughly.

"It slipped my mind."

Edwin felt like cursing. It was incomprehensible. It had slipped his mind? He restrained himself in order to ask more questions. "What was in that other will?" He hoped Sebastian knew more than merely that it had existed.

"There was more in it for me. That I know."

Sebastian's share was something that Edwin did not care about at all. "I bet it isn't even true. How can you not know anything else?" This might simply be some stupid ploy to get more money, not that it was ever going to work, but some people were just completely devoid of intelligence. This was one of them.

"Nigel had gone to the loo. I passed his study by accident and looked in. I saw it on his desk and I just searched for my name; that's all. I didn't see the rest of it because he came back and I had to pretend I was doing something else. He covered it up then." Sebastian did not think he was stupid at all, though he was quite shifty and nervous about it. "I don't think I was supposed to see it."

Edwin thought that was obvious. "Well, it wouldn't have been legal if it hadn't been signed by two witnesses. Had it?" If it had not been witnessed he might as well stop asking about it, because it would be useless.

"I didn't check." Sebastian looked as if he had never heard of witnesses.

"It's pretty stupid to base your expectations on an invalid will," Edwin mocked contemptuously. "When was this, what happened to it and what did it look like?" There was a tiny chance that this will had been witnessed and signed after Sebastian had seen it -- if he had seen it at all. How stupid was he? How willing was he to lie? And what did he think was the point in lying?

"It was a week ago."

"You did not hear the solicitor say he knew about a newer will. It would have been read. I don't think the police even found a draft in the house. Where did the thing go after you saw it? Who were staying here at the time?" He did not believe Sebastian yet. He had to give him something substantial to go on first.

"Me, Poppy, my cousin Frank, er...Cherie Young -- she's Poppy's mother -- she stayed only one night because they had a huge row. I'm not even sure she was there precisely that day. It could have been another day."

"That was it?" Edwin ruled out cousin Frank. He had never heard of him and neither was it someone who had inherited anything.

"I think so."

"What was the row about?" Edwin wondered if Cherie might have returned in secret to kill Nigel. It seemed strange to do so a week later, but any row shortly before a murder was interesting.

"Don't know. Listen. I'm pretty sure I was going to get about ten times as much as I do now." Sebastian did not want the conversation to be steered away from that topic. That was what was important to him.

"That just doesn't seem likely." Edwin mentally swapped portions around. If Anna got Poppy's portion after Nigel had found out the truth, would Poppy get Anna's? She might get nothing at all if there was no blood tie and Clarissa had told him there was not. What would be the effect on Sebastian's portion? If he got his original share plus Anna's, that would still not be ten times as much. It was all nonsense. "I don't even believe you really saw another will."

"Why not?"

"Because it slipped your mind. You forgot it the first forty-nine times you repeated your complaint. Because nobody was listening to you, you made this up to catch people's attention. You didn't wonder where it went, if it was at all valid. Nothing. Until this thing turns up I'm not going to believe you. I think you're just making this up because you're stupid enough to think it might make a difference. Just because you say you were going to get more doesn't make you get more." He had become a little hopeful for Clarissa's sake at first, but Sebastian's ongoing stupidity had convinced him it had been nothing more than a lie. "You're a pathetic liar."

Anna took some time to think over the question Scott had asked. Then she spoke. "I've never seen Poppy's mother, but I think she's in Hollywood shooting a film because she always is. She doesn't often have time to come over."

"Does Poppy ever visit her?" Scott asked.

Anna shrugged. "Oh yes. She goes over quite a lot, but it sounds like mainly for the parties. She'll come back and say she's talked to all those stars. I'm not sure she's with her mother all the time then."

"Sounds as if she is playing some very stereotypical role," Margaret mused. She had some trouble accepting that this could be real. It was the worst of caricatures of shallowness and superficiality that liked those things, going for the parties and talking to the stars. They existed, such people, but they usually had some redeeming quality that made them less stereotypical.

"I don't want to insult you, Margaret," Scott began. "But..." She should not be the one to talk about playing stereotypical roles. He could pin some stereotypes on her as well, especially when she dressed up to play the well-known version of Margaret Maxwell.

She sighed. He might not want to insult her, but he was going to do so anyway, probably. "No, go right ahead. I can take it." And that was a lie. She would be affected. She valued his opinion more than anyone else's.

He decided against it. "You catch my drift."

Perhaps she did and perhaps she did not. She did not want to think about it, but chose an evasive answer. "How is it insulting to me to say I understand you?"

"Shut up." Iain turned back to Anna. "So the contact with her mother isn't very deep?"

"I'm not sure they do much together. Mum says her mother has always been away filming, so that's why they don't see each other much."

Margaret gurgled. Of course it was much and much better to raise a child like Anna, who had trouble thinking on her own because her mother was on top of her all the time.

"Margaret..." Iain looked at her imperatively. "Take your drink to a quiet corner and evaluate. Please." He did not specify what she should evaluate, but he felt she was intelligent enough to understand that she should take a close look at her attitude. They were trying to find a murderer, not assessing parenting styles.

She gave him an impressive glare, but she did as he said. Never mind that finding a quiet corner was going to be an impossible task, she did not want to stay.

Anna looked impressed. "Are you angry with her?" She had always known he was not to be messed with. He might even be angry with her for coming with Margaret, but he had told her to go with her.

"A little more tolerance would go a long way," he replied. "On either side. I can be very tolerant if she's not next to me at this moment, though, so let's continue. Poppy's mother." He forced himself to think about her and not whether he had been too harsh to Margaret. She had not snapped back at him, so it was probably all right.

"Yes," Anna said, to say something. She did not know what else she could tell him. She did not know what he meant by tolerance either and she had better not try his patience.

"So ... we have a selfish and spoilt girl, no accomplishments of her own, attending parties as her mother's daughter only," he summed up reflectively. "What's her goal in life? What does she want to be?"

"I don't know."

"Is she still in school?" He could not visualise Poppy as a zealous student. There was too little glamour and too much work in that life.

"Oh no." Anna said that as if that was a very odd question. "She tried some courses, but didn't like them."

He was not surprised. "And she doesn't work either?"

"No. But soon she will do some TV work. Arthur has something for her. It will be a big show and a great success." She sounded as if she almost literally repeated what someone else had told her, without knowing much about the particulars.

The source of Anna's information would be Poppy herself, Scott deduced, and not Arthur or Edwin. "And this is certain to go through?" He had received other information.

Anna believed what she was told, apparently. "Oh yes. Talks are in the final stages. That's why she had to take lessons from Margaret to speak well on stage. I mean, on the...whatever you present from."

"Poppy didn't like those lessons, did she?"

"No, she always said she hated Margaret and Margaret can be very obnoxious too if she wants."

Yes, Scott thought. "Yes, she can."

"I thought you liked her." Anna was uncertain of that now, given their most recent interaction. She should not try to gauge people. She always got it wrong.

"My ideal Margaret is a little softer." He did like her, but that did not mean he did not wish for more. He would not be wishing that if he did not know she could be like that when all other distracting influences were removed. She could smile and she could be nice. It was not always sarcastic smirks.

"Perhaps it's all that running," Anna ventured. "And you should tell her to stop."

He did not understand that. "How is that going to help?" He would think that spending her energy physically left less to be spent verbally.

"Not exercising makes the body softer," she explained. "Doesn't it?"

"But that's not how I want her." He cringed after speaking. That was not how he wanted her. What had happened to the question whether he wanted her at all? Apparently that was no longer an issue and it had become a given. He hoped Anna had missed it. He wanted Margaret softer in spirit, but not in body. It was best to admit it to himself. It would save him a lot of denial in the foreseeable future.

Either she had indeed missed it, or Anna chose not to react to it. She ate some more of her sandwich instead.

Iain tried to remember where he had left off before they had got to Margaret's body. Margaret's smile. Before that. Poppy's lessons. "Why didn't Poppy come to the swimming pool after Margaret finished tutoring her?"

"Hmm." Anna had her mouth full. "I don't know. Maybe she had something to do."

Such as murdering Nigel? He thought it best not to voice that thought. It might distress Anna so much that she could no longer answer. What pressing thing could Poppy possibly have to do if she spent all of her afternoons lying on a towel? She would have had plenty of time before tea. "Could she have asked to be tutored after tea? It had never happened before."

"I don't think she liked it enough to ask," was Anna's cautious opinion.

"Did she have a lesson that morning?" Edwin Symonds had told him the lessons usually took place in the morning, with the odd session after dinner. If there had not been a lesson that morning, then the session after tea might have been a mere replacement and it would not have been as significant.

Anna had to think for a second. "Yes, she did."

They were getting somewhere then. "Did she often have two lessons a day?" He thought he already knew the answer. It was negative.

"No. When they couldn't make it in the morning, they did it after dinner. She didn't want it more than once a day because she wanted to be free to do fun stuff."

Iain looked thoughtful. "Could Nigel force her to take two lessons a day?" That somehow seemed unlikely. He would have forced her to do much more in that case, such as forcing her to get a job. The idea would not have originated with him.

Anna did not think so. "She would have to want to. She would never agree if she didn't want to. I have heard him try to get her to do stuff and he never succeeded."

That was what he would have imagined. It could not have been his idea. "Did you hear him ask her about this session after tea?"

Anna looked at the bottles behind the bar, as if they held the answer. "No, I only heard him ask Margaret. She said...a bad word, but all right."

Section Thirty-Five

It was always dangerous to walk through pubs as a lone woman with a pint in her hand. It gave some thick minds the idea that she was looking for a man to chat to, when Margaret was merely looking for a place to sit in peace and to think of her faults, as ordered by the Detective Chief Inspector himself, he who must be obeyed.

"Are you Margaret Maxwell?" a spotted youngster asked in excitement when she squeezed herself past him.

"No, sorry," she replied curtly, continuing to wind her way through the crowd. There had to be a door to the garden nearby. There were chairs there, if she recalled correctly. Since it was further from the bar, there would also be fewer people. She did not want people. If she gave in to the feeling, she might feel very depressed.

The youngster followed her. "You are!"

"What on earth did I do to deserve you?" she snapped back. "Get lost." She was in no mood for this.

"I'm your greatest fan!" he persisted.

"I have no other fans, so that's really easy. I'm not impressed." Where was that door? She gave a large man a nudge in his side because he was blocking her way. He moved aside and finally she saw the door. It was open and at least the garden was not full. Everyone seemed to prefer indoors -- perhaps because it was raining. She could not blame them for that, but the rain did not scare her off. There was a large parasol under which she placed a wet chair. That would give her some peace. She was not going to take the cleansing qualities of the rain too literally.

The spotted youth was not deterred by this move. He came to stand beside her under the parasol. "It's you! Can I have your autograph, Ms Maxwell?"

He might as well have touched her. She raised her hand, her annoyance increasing because only by acting sweetly she might have escaped recognition. "You can have my manual autograph on your cheek, if you do not bugger off instantly." She was perfectly pissed off now, and it was all Iain's fault. If Margaret Maxwell had not been above crying, she might have given that a try to see if that helped to make her feel better. Iain had not even done much. He had said she should evaluate, but this idiot was in her way. He should go.

"Huh?"

"Didn't you hear me?" She had to get rid of this kid before she really shed a tear. They felt dangerously close to appearing. It figured that he did not understand her -- she did not understand herself either, but she preferred to have no witnesses to that confusion.

"What did you say?"

Margaret made one last effort. "I am requesting you in varying degrees of politeness to leave me alone. If you do not comply, I shall be forced to take extreme measures." It would be a waste of a perfectly good pint, but there was a chance that she might spill it -- over him.

Contrary to what she had expected, the youngster stared at her in admiration and he did not go away. He looked more eager than before.

"This turns you on, or what?" she inquired, feeling rather baffled. She attracted the wrong kind of men, always. She could not be good with the good ones, only very bad with the bad ones. If she was not cross with this man, she might cry over the other.

Who was the one who most deserved to be showered with a glass of beer? Perhaps she should not think such wasteful thoughts. Perhaps she should drink it.

"I love it." He was not even trying to be big about this. He was honest.

She did not love it. She was being extremely rude and doing that on purpose too. People ought to recognise that for what it was. Instead, they often liked it when she behaved this way. She supposed because it was something they did not dare themselves. In this case she had no choice, however, and it was impotence, not power. "You don't exactly turn me on." Not exactly, no. Not at all. She wished he would go away and not lure her into implying there were things that did turn her on. That was something she really did not want to know right now. She did not even want to explore how her mind had led her to referring to such things.

Although she had not felt miserable when she had walked away from Iain and Anna, she was feeling increasingly rotten now that it was beginning to sink in that he had in fact sent her away because he found her irritating. It was a rather new and unpleasant sensation to feel so affected. All she wanted was to be alone. Then she could evaluate her attitude, but more importantly, her state of mind. A calm analysis would surely reduce it to nothing, to something that was not worth feeling uncomfortable about.

"Not yet," the fan had the audacity to say brightly. Obviously he had a rather high opinion of his own attractiveness.

Margaret did not share it. She screamed.

Randall and Clarissa had pursued the matter of the paternity test in the meantime. "I ordered a kit online," Clarissa explained. "And I sent the samples back to the company." It had been a very easy method with no questions asked. She did not have to say why and she remained anonymous. Why should an overseas company care who she was?

"Right," said Randall with all the scepticism of one married to a doctor. She did not know whether they could trust companies advertising online. Were there many people who wanted tests like these to be carried out? Did they have any legal worth? "Do you have the test results?" If so, she might send them on to her husband to see if they looked bona fide.

"Not here. I wouldn't bring such important things here. They might fall into the wrong hands. I have them at home."

"Didn't Nigel get a copy?" He was one of the tested parties, after all. Randall supposed that Poppy was the one who was not allowed to know, not Nigel.

"No, he only got to look at a copy, but I didn't give it to him."

That had been clever. It would not have ended up in Poppy's hands that way and the only way she could know about it was if Nigel had told her. He might have done that in a fit of exasperation or anger. Or had he told Poppy's mother? After all, she had been the one who had cheated on him. He would look like a fool if the truth came out. In that respect it was interesting that it had been the one with the money who had been murdered and not the one with the knowledge.

"Well..." Randall said after she had done some thinking. "It's important to the case. I want you to go home and get the test results for us. I'll tell the DCI about it." She had no idea where he had gone, but she assumed he was talking to someone nearby. She had gone to the lavatory and he had disappeared. He would be annoyed if she interrupted him with a phone call. Telling him would have to wait until he returned.

"What about Anna?" Clarissa did not want to leave if she did not know what might happen to her daughter.

"Anna is with Margaret. She'll be all right."

"Do you know for certain that she isn't the murderer?"

"Are you in doubt?" If that was the case Randall was interested in hearing why.

Clarissa was not yet fully convinced. "He wouldn't have sent Anna with her if he suspected her, would he?"

"It might just be," said Randall devilishly, "that he's determined to think her innocent because he's blinded by her appearance."

"Margaret's?" Clarissa asked doubtfully. She remembered how impressed Scott had been with her own appearance, which was, she believed, better than Margaret's. "She makes no effort to blind and he makes every effort not to be blinded. Sure."

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